Riddled With Darkness
by K. Ashley
Summary: Witness Tom Riddle's spiraling downfall into evil, as told through the eyes of the woman who knew and loved him before the Dark Days...
1. Honesty

**Riddled With Darkness**

_ Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, and other names and characters are the sole property of J.K. Rowling, except of course for those that are mine…_

What I am about to tell you is not meant to win me fame and fortune. After all, I am certain that many will read this account and think that I am just some crazy old woman out to scrounge up a little attention by saying that she knew the infamous Lord Voldemort way back when. Well, they will be wrong. Of course, I am an old lady, but I am no crazier than anyone else, and to tell you the truth, I am not exactly keen on the idea of sharing this information with you. But, I have decided that my good reputation is not as important as telling the truth. And the truth is, reader, that the wizard you call Voldemort was just a person. Just like the rest of us…

I remember the first time I saw Tom, in the fall of 1942. I remember feeling… an affinity with him. It was something about the way the sadness in his dark eyes contrasted with the playfulness of his smirk. Yes, his face always did seem a jumble of expressions, but they arranged themselves in a very flattering way, I thought. After all, not every boy of sixteen could successfully pull off such a mosaic of moods.

I was a transfer student in the sixth year, newly arrived from Beauxbatons. I arrived at Hogwarts several weeks into the semester, and was privately sorted in Headmaster Dippet's office. Gryffindor. I wasn't quite sure at the time whether being placed in Gryffindor was a good or a bad thing. After all, I had never heard of it. The only House from Hogwarts whose reputation had ever drifted as far as Beauxbatons was Slytherin. And it just so happened that, at the time of my arrival, the Gryffindors and Slytherins were gathered together in the dungeons for a Potions lesson.

Professor Dumbledore, the Transfiguration teacher, was kind enough to lead me down the dim, musty passageways to the dungeons. Upon entering the classroom, he cleared his throat and all heads turned in our direction. "Pardon the interruption, Professor Swizzle, but I would like to introduce your new student. This is Amelie Delacroix, and she has just arrived from Beauxbatons."

Professor Swizzle, who was a sallow, gangly fellow, nodded and beckoned me to find a seat. "Welcome, Ms. Delacroix," he said shortly. Professor Dumbledore bowed his exit, and I took a seat near the back of the class. "As I was saying, Veritaserum is a powerful potion, and one that is illegal in most countries. Therefore, we will be experimenting with its less-potent cousin, Candoriae." As Swizzle continued to diagram the properties of the simple Candoriae potion, I discreetly surveyed my classmates.

The only distinction between Houses among the sea of black robes was a small crest on the breast of each student. Most of the crimson crests were seated to my left, while the green crests of the Slytherins were to my right. There was a tangible tension in the air, and I knew immediately that these particular Houses were not the best of friends. Several curious glances were cast in my direction, as is to be expected when a new student is introduced to the class, especially a foreigner.

Finally, Swizzle finished his droning lecture and instructed the class to pair up in order to practice brewing the Candoriae potion. I looked around nervously as everyone began pairing up. The remainder of unpaired students was quickly dwindling, and as I didn't know a soul, I feared I would be without a partner for the exercise. Swizzle, however came to my rescue.

"Tom," he said over the bustling of the class, "please partner with Ms. Delacroix. I think you are able enough to get her caught up on the things she has missed."

I frowned at Professor Swizzle's assumption that I was sub par in my knowledge of Potions. A tall boy with a green crest on his robes made his way through the maze of tables and chairs to where I sat. I looked up at him and was taken slightly aback by the deep sadness that emanated from his eyes.

He sat next to me and nodded. "I'm Tom," he said, his voice soft and unassuming, "Tom Riddle." He flashed me a smile that bore none of the pain from his eyes. I smiled back and introduced myself in perfect English.

"Well, then," Tom said, "I suppose we should go over the basics, first, since you missed the first few weeks of class."

"It is not necessary," I told him. "I know the Candoriae potion very well. We covered it last year at Beauxbatons." At this news, Tom's left eyebrow rose slightly and he cleared his throat.

"Very well, then, let's get started, shall we?" he said. We went to work, measuring and mixing foul-smelling ingredients into our cauldron. The fumes from the potion curled their way into the air and hung over our heads like a yellow cloud. All around us, the rest of the class were fumbling with the recipe. A cauldron in a far corner of the room had begun to melt, while somewhere nearby a small explosion sounded as a chubby Gryffindor boy added too much powdered salamander tail.

It didn't take long for Tom and I to complete our potion. We sat back and watched amusedly as much of the class failed the assignment miserably. Professor Swizzle announced over the talking of the students that we were to each take a small drink of the potion and take turns asking each other the questions he had written on the chalkboard.

"And stick only to these questions," he threatened, "or you'll find yourselves in detention for a week. And that is the _truth_." Chuckling at his feeble joke, Swizzle began pacing the classroom, stopping now and then to berate students for butchering the delicate recipe.

"Well, shall we give it a go, then?" Tom asked, gesturing toward our simmering cauldron. I nodded, and we each tasted a spoonful of the thickish yellow brew. It tasted terrible at first, but after a moment it began to have a sweetness to it. We must have done it correctly, for I felt utterly unaffected by it.

"Ladies, first," Tom said. "Ask away."

I looked at the board and read the first question: "Are you wearing dirty socks?"

"Absolutely," he blurted, before giving a short laugh. "Well, looks like it's working. Okay, now I'll ask you a question…" He looked up at the chalkboard and then back at me. "How often do you floss your teeth?"

"Almost never," I said. It was a strange sensation. Not that I was all that embarrassed by the fact that my flossing habits left much to be desired, but it was as though the words leapt from my throat without first obtaining permission from my brain. We both chuckled. I looked at the board, preparing to ask Tom the next question, when he beat me to it.

"What House are you in?" he asked. I did not yet have a set of red-crest-emblazoned school robes.

Before my mind even had time to fully register the question, my mouth blurted, "Gryffindor."

"Oh," Tom said. His face fell for an instant, but then a smirk crossed his thin lips. "I'm sorry. Terrible House, Gryffindor." Not a moment after he uttered those words, his eyes widened slightly. It was obvious that, under normal circumstances, he would have kept his thoughts about Gryffindor to himself, but the Candoriae potion would allow no secrecy.

"And why is that?" I asked, completely disregarding the fact that our truthful conversation had digressed from the set of questions on the chalkboard. Tom seemed to struggle against the effects of the potion for a moment, before he blurted his answer.

"Because Gryffindors are a bunch of meddling know-it-alls," he said.

"Are you calling me a 'meddling know-it-all'?" I demanded, my short fuse rapidly burning.

"Yes."

"Well! I think you're extremely rude! And your feet are ridiculously large!" This time it was my eyes that widened. I was appalled at myself for having said such a thing.

"Ah, now who's being rude?" Tom taunted, subconsciously pulling his feet underneath the hem of his long robes. "I thought the French were all about manners!"

"Excusez-moi?" I could feel my face turning red. A little voice somewhere in the back of my head was trying desperately to remind me that it was just the potion causing all this trouble, but the fact that the Candoriae potion was forcing the _truth_ out of Tom's mouth seemed to silence the little voice altogether.

"You heard me," Tom said, his voice even and calm, without a hint of anger. "The French are smelly, pompous morons, everyone knows that."

My jaw dropped and I could feel the stinging of tears at the corners of my eyes. I stood up, my hands balled into fists. "Putain d'gros boudin!" I shouted at him, before hurrying out of the classroom. Out in the dank dungeon corridor, I leaned against the wall and allowed myself to cry, my hands over my face. A powerful wave of homesickness washed over me, and I wanted more than anything to be back in France, at school with my friends at Beauxbatons.

A few minutes later, I heard tentative footsteps emerge from the Potions classroom and head my way. I didn't look up, but I could feel someone standing rather close to me. "Amelie?" came Tom's voice. I didn't look at him. "Amelie, here, drink this."

Wiping the stray tears off of my cheeks, I reluctantly looked up at him. He was holding a small vial of swirling red liquid. "What is it?" I asked, looking him sharply in the eye.

"The antidote to the Candoriae potion," he said seriously. "I already took some." He nodded his head reassuringly and handed me the vial. Putting the glass to my lips, I allowed the acidic antidote to slide down my throat, rather like taking a shot of a nasty liquor. I coughed and sputtered a little, and wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve.

Tom smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry about what happened in there," he said. "I never would have said those things if it weren't for the potion, even if you are a Gryffindor." His smile broadened, as though he thought his comment about my being in Gryffindor would lighten the mood.

I folded my arms. "That potion did nothing but force you to speak your mind. So now I know exactly what you think of me."

Tom frowned and heaved a great sigh. "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot," he said. "And speaking of feet, you said some pretty nasty things yourself in there. Pity I don't speak French. What exactly did you say to me before you stormed out?" Now his boyish smirk returned and I allowed myself to grin a little.

"Nothing," I said. "You don't want to know."

He shrugged. "Shall we call it a truce, then?" he asked. I nodded and took his outstretched hand. He chuckled a little as we shook on our truce. "You know," he said, "I never thought I'd see the day when I'd shake hands with a Gryffindor."


	2. Chivalry

If I told you that from that handshake on, Tom and I were the best of friends and lived happily ever after, I would be lying. I mentioned before that I had been sorted into Gryffindor, and that spelled problems for Tom and I right from the get go. It didn't take long for me to realize that Slytherin and Gryffindor Houses were utter rivals. My own Housemates made certain that I was aware of this fact.

"You see, Amelie," said Madeleine Quirkenheim one day in the Library, "there is a reason that nobody likes the Slytherins: they're all a bit… cold-hearted. Very self-serving, if you know what I mean. They will mow down anyone at anytime, friend or foe, if it means achieving their ends."

I found Madeleine's definition of a Slytherin to be a little over the top. After all, the Slytherins were just students, like the rest of us. Sure, they were competitive, but so was I. But, just like any other fifteen-year-old girl, I allowed myself to dissipate into the rivalry and did my best to out-spell, out-brew, out-fly, and basically out-do the Slytherins in any way possible. I no longer sat near Tom or any other green-crested student in class, and I snickered with the rest of my Gryffindor girlfriends when a Slytherin happened upon a bit of misfortune.

One day, however, misfortune settled its gaze on me. I was on my way down to the Library that evening to do a bit of studying, when I happened upon a particular step that I had been warned before to avoid. No sooner had my foot touched the stone than my leg was swallowed up by the rogue step. I was in a very awkward position, my knee perched on one step while my other leg had disappeared into the step below it. I groaned and tugged with all my might, willing the step to release me. Beauxbatons had never been plagued by trick steps or moving staircases or anything of the like, and I found myself suddenly wishing I was safely back within its glistening, Louis XIV-style décor. 

It didn't take long for my leg to become sore, and I silently berated myself for having left my wand back in my dormitory. After what seemed like an eternity, I heard footsteps approaching from below. _Oh, hurry! _I thought, my leg screaming with pain. The footsteps grew closer, and finally their owner emerged in the entrance to the staircase. It was Tom Riddle, arms laden with books. Immediately he saw me, and his mouth slowly twisted into that smirk he was so fond of.

"Well, well, well," he said, slowly climbing the stairs toward me, "what have we here? Could it be? Would an oh-so-smart-and-wonderful-Gryffindor really allow herself to be caught up by something so simple as a trick stair?"

"Tom, please, you have to get me out of here!" I cried. My back was now starting to ache from being hunched in such an unnatural position. Tom stopped a couple of steps below me and carefully set his books down. He folded his arms across his chest and grinned at me.

"Didn't they teach you how to get yourself out at that French school of yours?" he taunted. I frowned and gave another tug at my leg, only serving to cause myself more pain.

"Tom, I don't have time for this," I said evenly, glaring at him. "Now if you will be so kind as to help me-"

"Kind?" Tom interrupted, grinning even more broadly. "But everyone knows that Slytherins aren't kind. We're mean, cruel, heartless brutes, isn't that what you Gryffindors say?"

I could see that Tom was in no hurry to lend me a hand. On the contrary, he actually seemed to be enjoying the spectacle very much. "Oh, will you just grow up?" I snarled through gritted teeth. I could feel my face turning red, a mixture of both anger and embarrassment.

"Hmmm," Tom said thoughtfully, shaking his head at me, "is that really a nice way to talk to someone who is your only chance of getting out of that step?" I was about to answer, when more footsteps sounded at the bottom of the staircase. I hoped with all my might that it was a fellow Gryffindor, but was much dismayed when a drawling, unfriendly voice hailed Tom.

"What's going on, Riddle?" asked a Slytherin third year, with whom I was only vaguely familiar. Tom turned around and greeted his Housemate. 

"Oh, not much, Lucius," he said lazily, "just a Gryffindor stuck in stone." The blond boy stopped next to Tom and shook his head. 

"Well, looks like she won't be getting a good night's rest tonight," Lucius Malfoy said, looking up at the older Tom. "Serves her right." 

Tom didn't answer this, but was staring at me intently. I heaved a great sigh and pounded the hard stone floor with my fist. "One of you just help me out, or I'll-"

"Or you'll what?" said Tom. It wasn't a threat, really, nor was it even a taunt. It was a sincere question. Tom Riddle wanted to know what I would do if he didn't help me out. I faltered, my eyes dropping momentarily to the floor. When Tom assumed that commanding air, it was hard to know how to react.

"Or I'll be stuck here all night," I said finally, my pride forming a lump in my throat as I swallowed it. Malfoy snickered uncontrollably, his frail figure shaking with mirth beneath his black robes. Tom, however, did not laugh, but looked at me quite seriously.

"Well, that's an honest answer," he said softly.

"Come on, Tom," said Lucius, still chuckling, "let's go. We'll see how all that Gryffindor bravery holds out being stuck alone in a dark corridor all night."

"Quiet, Malfoy," Tom said evenly, gaining immediate silence from his younger companion. Tom climbed two more stairs, closing the distance between us, and drew his wand out of his robes. I held my breath as he deftly aimed the dark wand at my immersed leg. "_Extractorus,_" he said. 

Immediately, the pain subsided and I was able to lift my leg out of the stone. I stood up rather stiffly and bent to massage my aching limb. Finally, I looked up at Tom. Although he was standing two steps below me, his eyes were level with mine. Once again, I was momentarily struck by the intensity and sadness of his dark eyes. Malfoy lurked behind him, looking a bit sulky for having been overruled. 

"Thank you," I said. A bit of the smirk returned to Tom's face. 

"You'll be all right from here, won't you?" he asked. I rolled my eyes.

"Yes, I'll be fine."

"Very well, then," Tom said. "See you in class." He nodded politely and edged past me, continuing up the stairs. "Oh, and Malfoy," he called lazily over his shoulder, "grab those books, will you?"

Lucius mechanically bent and retrieved the stack of books Tom had laid down before and trudged after Tom, casting me a haughty glance as he passed. 


	3. Secrecy

You see, I have never been the clique type. Not to say that I'm a loner or anything, but I prefer to keep my options open when it comes to friends. At Beauxbatons, I was acquainted with just about everyone in every year. I rarely sat at the same table twice at meals, I partnered with a different person each time we did work in pairs in classes, and I knew just about everyone's name. That doesn't mean I _liked_ everyone, but at least I knew who they were.

Hogwarts was a different story altogether, what with its House tables and House dormitories and House points. I found it very smothering, and it didn't take long for me to rebel. After all, spending three meals a day, every day, with the same few Gryffindor fifth-years, then trotting off to class with those very same Gryffindor fifth-years, followed by spending all my free time with none other than those Gryffindor fifth-years got very tiring. They were very nice and fun to be with, but I found myself wondering what it would be like to spend a meal with the Hufflepuffs or do my homework with the Ravenclaws. And there was Tom. He was the only Slytherin I had any interest in befriending, for I found that the rest of them, unfortunately, fit the Slytherin stereotype all too well.

One day at lunch, I decided I'd had quite enough of staring at Madeleine Quirkenheim's oversized nose. She was in the middle of gossiping animatedly when I stood up and took my half-eaten meal in hand. Madeleine stopped mid-sentence and looked up at me, as did the rest of my companions. "Amelie, where are you going? Aren't you hungry?" Madeleine asked.

"Yes, I'm famished," I replied honestly, "but I think I'm going to finish my lunch over there, with the Hufflepuffs." My statement had a profound effect on my fellow Gryffindors. Their eyes widened and they all looked at one another, as though trying to determine whether their ears had heard me correctly.

"But you're a Gryffindor," Clara McFee said stupidly, staring at me as though I'd lost my mind.

"Yes, I know," I said, "but there aren't any rules that say we can't associate with other Houses. Now, if you will excuse me, I'll see you in class." With that, I walked away, very aware of the eruption of murmurs behind my back. I shook my head and made my way to the crowded Hufflepuff table. There was a particular person with whom I was anxious to acquaint myself, and I found him sitting toward the end of the long table. He was in my Herbology class, and he had to have been the largest boy I had ever seen.

"Excuse me, but your name is Rubeus Hagrid, isn't it?" I asked, tapping him on his immense shoulder. The boy turned around and stared at me. 

"Yeah," he said gruffly, his beady eyes roaming confusedly over the plate of food in my hands. "What can I do fer yeh?"

"I was wondering if I might join you and your friends," I said simply. Hagrid exchanged bewildered glances with his surrounding Hufflepuffs and then looked back at me. 

"Uh, sure, I suppose," he said, sliding down on the bench to make room for me to sit beside him. I took my seat and smiled around at the rest of the Hufflepuffs. They had all stopped eating and were staring at me expectantly. Sitting next to Hagrid, I felt extremely small, as the top of my head only reached his elbow. He looked down at me and gave me an awkward smile. "Yer a Gryffindor, righ'?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm Amelie Delacroix," I said. "We have Herbology together."

"Erm, yeah, we do, don' we?" Hagrid said awkwardly. "So, what brings yeh to our side o' the Hall today?"

"I don't know," I said, "just felt like making new friends, I suppose. Will you please pass the Pumpkin Juice?" Hagrid handed me the large carafe of juice, then went back to his meal. I found that the Hufflepuffs were very friendly, indeed. Hagrid, despite his overpowering appearance, turned out to be quite gentle and sweet, and I saw him sneak a bit of food into his pocket on several occasions, where it was devoured hungrily by an unseen creature.

Across the Great Hall, I caught a wide-eyed stare from Tom Riddle, who was sitting as usual, surrounded by his Slytherin groupies. When my eyes met his, he gave me a quizzical look, seeming just as perplexed as the Gryffindors had been about my rubbing elbows with the Hufflepuffs. I gave him a curt smile and turned back to Hagrid and his friends, who were engaged in a very animated discussion about which was the more noble creature: unicorns or dragons.

Later that day, in Potions, Tom sidled up to me, setting his cauldron on the table beside mine. The two Gryffindor boys who shared my table shot nasty glares at him, and huddled together, whispering. I ignored both them and Tom, and focused my attention on my bubbling cauldron.

"So," Tom said finally, "lunch with giants, huh?"

I looked up at him. "Giants? What do you mean?"

"Amelie, don't play dumb, because I know you're not," Tom said lazily, not looking at me, but at the beetle he was grinding for his potion. "That Hagrid dolt. He's half-giant."

My eyes widened slightly, but then I shook my head. "No, he can't be. Everyone knows that giants are cruel, terrible creatures, and Rubeus Hagrid is nothing of the sort." At this, Tom gave an almost indiscernible snort.

"Nothing of the sort, eh?" he murmured, still not looking at me. "What of all those beasts he sneaks into the castle? Not exactly the friendliest of pets."

"He just happens to like animals," I said, beginning to feel a bit annoyed. Why was Tom drilling me, anyway? "He told me today at lunch that he plans to become a Healer of Magical Creatures one day."

"Is that what he told you?" Here, Tom tipped his bowlful of ground beetle into his cauldron and turned to me. "_Naïve_ is a French word, right?"

"Look, what are you getting at?" I snapped at him, putting my hands on my hips. "What do you care if Hagrid and I are friends?"

Tom raised an eyebrow and frowned. He studied my face for a long time before answering. "Oh, nothing," he said finally, leaning close so that no one else could hear his words, "just that I overheard the great oaf talking to some of his friends the other day. It seems that he's planning some sort of attack. Wants to create a stir around the castle."

"I really don't think that Rubeus Hagrid would ever attack anyone," I said.

"No, _he_ wouldn't," murmured Tom, "but I guarantee that some of his wild pets wouldn't mind nipping a bit of flesh now and then. All I'm telling you is what I heard. I like you, Amelie, even if you are a Gryffindor. I don't want to see you get hurt… that's all." 

__

A/N: Sorry my chapters are so short, but what can I say? I'm a busy gal. Lemme know what you think so far… 


	4. Bigotry

As the months melted by, the Hogwarts grounds became progressively cooler, while the thick trees of the Forbidden Forest slowly melded from green to brilliant shades of orange and red. October brought an onslaught of frigid wind, every day howling through the castle courtyards, forcing us to don our heavy winter cloaks a bit earlier than usual. 

Tom and I had become quite close over the previous months. Nothing romantic, really, just a strong closeness, like friends who had known each other for a very long time. My fellow Gryffindors had become less than friendly toward me for having made such acquaintance with a Slytherin, but I was unfazed. Tom and I sat together in classes, took turns about the grounds during breaks, went to Hogsmeade together on weekends - everything except eat together. For some reason, Tom refused to join me at the Gryffindor table, and would not hear of me approaching the Slytherin table, either. 

His companions were no keener on the idea of our friendship than mine. Lucius Malfoy, in particular, took every opportunity he got to shoot me dirty looks and make snide remarks about my nationality. "Hey, Frenchy, how do you say 'you smell' where you come from?" I would simply ignore his comments and continue about my business.

More and more, however, I began to notice that Tom was keeping to himself quite a bit. While his Slytherin toadies were busy sticking out their feet to trip first years in the corridors, Tom was constantly in the Library, his nose buried in countless books about the history of Hogwarts.

"What on earth are you studying?" I asked him one day, upon finding him at a table in an obscure corner of the Library. He jumped, sending several heavy books toppling to the floor, and looked angrily up at me.

"For Merlin's sake, Amelie, don't sneak up on me like that!" he growled, bending to retrieve the fallen books. I shrugged and sat down across from him.

"Sorry. Anyway, what is it you're reading? I never see you anymore," I said. He looked at me for a few moments, the anger in his eyes slowly subsiding, before he answered.

"A biography on Salazar Slytherin," he said, and suddenly he looked excited. He leaned over the table, lowering his voice to a whisper. "He was an excellent wizard, don't you think?"

"I suppose…" I said. "Wasn't he a bit harsh on admissions, though?"

"Well he had to be, didn't he?" said Tom. "If it weren't for him, Hogwarts would have gone to the dogs ages ago."

"Whatever you say… How long do you plan on staying down here?" I asked, hoping to have his company that evening to study for our upcoming Potions exam.

"Long as it takes," answered Tom vaguely, his eyes dropping to the pages of the book, scanning lovingly over the words. When I opened my mouth to speak again, Tom held up a hand without looking at me. "I need peace and quiet, please," he said curtly. Taking the hint, I gathered my things and left.

***

The next day, Tom was in an excellent mood - the best I'd seen him in for weeks. He completed his Potions and Charms assignments with a cheerfully exuberant air, and would not stop jabbering pleasantly during our break in the courtyard. When I asked him what had put him in such a good humor, he simply shrugged his broad shoulders and grinned boyishly. He turned to me and put his hands on my shoulders. "Life is good, Amelie, and it's only getting better!" he said with a giddy smile, and took me quite by surprise when he planted a kiss on my forehead before bounding off to class.

Later that day, as I sat busily taking notes in History of Magic, Professor Binns' droning lecture was interrupted when a frantic Professor McGonagall came rushing into the room, her square glasses slightly askew, and stray hairs falling from her usually neat bun. She murmured something urgently to Professor Binns, then sprinted from the room again. Professor Binns looked around at us, his heavily lined face etched with horror. "There's been an accident. You are dismissed to go STRAIGHT to your dormitories, on Headmaster Dippet's orders." With that, he rushed after McGonagall. We were so astonished at having heard Professor Binns speak to us in a voice other than the monotone we were used to that for a moment, no one moved. Then several of the Prefects sprang into action and began to shuffle everyone out of the classroom and toward our dormitories.

Up in the Gryffindor Common Room, the warm air was alive with whispers and rumors. Finally, Professor McGonagall, our Head of House, clambered through the portrait hole and the room fell silent. She gazed around at us with solemn eyes and cleared her throat. 

"There has been an attack," she said seriously, to which several first years uttered strangled whimpers. "Horace Malcomson, a Hufflepuff fourth year, was found petrified in the Entrance Hall this afternoon. He has been taken to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey assures us that he will be fully restored as soon as Professor Sprout can cultivate a batch of Mandrakes. I must ask you to remain in Gryffindor Tower for the remainder of the evening. Supper will be served here." Without another word, she left the Common Room, and a fresh wave of murmurs arose like a swarm of bees.

***

"Did you hear the news?" Tom pulled me aside in the corridor next morning on my way to breakfast. He looked strained, as though he hadn't slept all night. I nodded. "I heard the teachers talking last night while I was on Prefect duties," he said, "and they said it was a monster that attacked that Mudblood yesterday-"

"What did you say?" I cut him off sharply. 

"I say it was a monster!" repeated Tom urgently, his dark eyes ablaze with thrill.

"No," I said, feeling my face growing hot. "I meant the part about that boy being a 'Mudblood'."

"That's right," said Tom, his eyebrows knitting in mild confusion. "Everyone knows he's a Mudblood, poor chap." Only judging by his tone, Tom didn't feel the slightest pity for the Hufflepuff boy. My hands balled up into fists and I glared at Tom, willing myself not to cry. Noting the anger in my face, Tom put his hand on my upper arm. "Amelie, what's-?"

"Don't touch me!" I shouted at him, wrenching my arm away from his hand. Leaving him alone in the corridor, I stormed off to breakfast and didn't speak to him the rest of the day. The school was abuzz all day with rumors and musings about the attack. Many students were afraid, as there was a widespread rumor that the attack was due to something called the "Chamber of Secrets" being opened, whatever that meant, while many others shrugged it off as a mere prank, perhaps performed by the poltergeist, Peeves, whom Horace Malcomson had been known to torment. The whole of Slytherin House were smug, and the filthy word 'Mudblood' could be heard wafting from their direction all over the castle.

That night, Tom sought me out in the Library, where I was absorbed in my Arithmancy homework. "Amelie?" he said, sitting down next to me but facing the opposite direction, so that he could look me in the face. I didn't answer him, but kept my eyes cast determinedly down at my parchment. "Amelie, please, talk to me."

I turned the iciest glare I could muster on him. "There is nothing to talk about," I said coldly, but he shot me a withering glare.

"Obviously something I said earlier offended you," Tom said patiently. "I just want to know what it was."

"How can you be so oblivious?" I spat. "You called that poor Hufflepuff boy a Mudblood."

"So?" said Tom incredulously. "That's what he is, isn't he?" Again, I felt the heat creeping into my face. Slowly, painfully, understanding began to seep into Tom's expression. His black eyes widened. "Wait a minute," he murmured, "you're not…?"

"Not what?" I demanded angrily. "Not a _Mudblood_? That would be awful, wouldn't it? You, such a perfect Slytherin, fraternizing with a common Muggle-born? I expected it of your Housemates, Tom, but never of you!"

"So… you are, then?" Tom asked again, his voice low, his expression serious. I took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.

"My parents are Muggles," I said evenly, my tone daring him to make something of it. There was a long, painful silence between us while I waited on tenterhooks for him to throw some terrible insult at me and he just stared at me as if he'd never seen me before.

"You never told me before that you were… _Muggle-born_," Tom said finally, whispering the last word as though someone might be spying on us.

"You never asked," I said. "Anyway, I never thought it important. I don't generally associate with bigots, after all."

"Look," said Tom, "let's just take a step backward, here. What I said earlier was… well, I was just caught up in the excitement. True, I have never gone out of my way to befriend Mud - I mean Muggle-borns, but you're different, Amelie. I… I care about you." At this last statement, Tom's eyes widened slightly again, almost as though he were surprised at himself for having uttered it.

He leaned slowly forward, as though to kiss me, but I slid resolutely away from him on the bench, folding my arms across my chest. "That still doesn't change the fact that you are prejudiced against people like me," I said. "How do I know you're not going to make fun of me behind my back? If _I _were to be attacked, like Horace, how do I know you wouldn't snicker about that, too?"

Tom allowed a small, sad smile to cross his thin lips. "You _won't_ be attacked, Amelie," he said. I raised an eyebrow. Tom leaned close to me again, casting his eyes around as though making sure no one was around. "You won't be attacked, because _I'm_ the one who controls the monster… I am Slytherin's heir."

__

A/N: Special thanks to the "Brilliance of Tom Riddle" website, whose historical timeline of Tom's life has been indispensable in writing this fanfic. The website, which contains tons of interesting tidbits in tribute of Tom Riddle, can be found at 


	5. Mania

"You're… _what_?" I asked, utterly confused. Tom's eyes had adopted that bright, almost maniacal glow that I had seen only once before, but would see more and more as time went by. He grinned and glanced around once more.

"Can't talk here," he said excitedly. "Follow me." Without another word, Tom leapt from the bench and took off through the Library, his black school robes billowing behind him like an odd sort of cape. Intrigued, I abandoned my homework, leaving it strewn across the wooden table, and hurried after him. We left the Library and began climbing countless staircases, some of which I had never yet encountered in my paths to and from class. 

Tom stopped abruptly before a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, who was so busy trying to teach a staggering group of trolls to dance ballet that he seemed not to notice our presence. "We need a place to talk in private!" Tom hissed at the blank stone wall across from the tapestry. I was about to question his behavior, when a door suddenly pushed it's way out of the solid wall, like something emerging from just below the surface of water. Seizing the gilded doorknob with one hand, and my arm with the other, Tom pushed open the door and dragged me inside what appeared to be an ancient, abandoned sitting room. There were several dusty armchairs and a rickety table upon which sat a tarnished silver tea set, netted by cobwebs. A small fireplace opposite the door sprang into action at a wave from Tom's wand, sending delightfully warm flames crackling their way up the chimney.

"What is this place?" I asked, awestruck.

"The Room of Requirement," Tom said simply, as though it was common knowledge. "Have a seat." He flicked his wand at one of the armchairs, muttering an incantation which rid the chair of its layers of dust. Smiling at Tom's polite cleaning maneuver, I perched myself on the edge of the chair and gazed up at him expectantly.

"So," I said, "you were saying?"

"Right," said Tom, not bothering to restrain the wide smile that was again spreading over his face. "The Chamber of Secrets. You've heard of it?"

"Only briefly," I said warily, "when some people said that it was the cause of the attack on Horace Malcomson."

"Yes, there are some who have followed legend closely," Tom said, nodding and running a hand distractedly through his dark hair. "But most think that the Chamber of Secrets is just that - a legend. But Amelie, it's real. I found it, and I opened it, and only I can control the powers within!" He began pacing before me, wringing his hands with excitement. 

"I don't understand," I said patiently. "Tom, I can see you're very excited, but you have to be more plain. What exactly is the Chamber of Secrets, and what is inside? And why is it that only _you_ can get in?"

"Don't you see?" he asked, suddenly rushing toward me and falling to his knees in front of my chair. He seized my hands and pulled me close, so that he could whisper again. "I'm the heir of Slytherin. Salazar Slytherin created the Chamber, ages ago when the Four still ran Hogwarts. He wanted to make sure that only those worthy of learning the art of magic would be accepted at Hogwarts. So he employed a servant - a _monster_ - that would rid the school those whom he did not deem worthy. And upon his death, he sealed the Chamber with many spells, so that none but his true heir could find and open it. 

"I began studying the legends years ago, intrigued by the stories and believing with all my heart that they were true. And I've finally found it, and opened it without a hitch. I am his heir, Amelie. I have the power, now. Things are going to change around here…"

Tom's speech broke off, and his eyes glazed over in reverie. He was still clutching my hands, and his breathing was heavy with exhilaration. A cold swept over me, as though someone had turned a bucket of ice water on my head and soaked me to the very core. The warmth of the fire seemed to melt away as I stared at Tom, my best friend, and began to understand him.

"So… so you're the one who attacked Horace," I said quietly, my voice snapping Tom out of his reverie. He grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

"Well, so to speak," he corrected me. "I set the beast free. It knows who to attack. It knows who is worthy and who isn't. This is my destiny, Amelie. This is for the good of Hogwarts."

I shook my head and pulled my hands away from him. "Tom, listen to what you're saying! You can't _attack_ people! You can't go around with a monster, picking off whoever you think 'unworthy'!"

"But Amelie," he interjected, once again grabbing my hands, "It's all part of the plan! Salazar Slytherin knew that I would come along one day. He knew that Hogwarts would become too lenient in admissions, that it would one day need to be purged of those who might bring about its ruin."

"No, Tom," I said, shaking my head determinedly. "No. It isn't right. You have to stop. You have to stop or I'll-"

"Or you'll what?" All the warmth had drained from Tom's eyes, and he rose slowly to his feet, looking down at me with a deep frown, his voice venomously quiet when he spoke. "Or you'll betray me? Tell Headmaster Dippet? I don't think you will." And I knew, reader, when he uttered those words and fixed me in that icy glare - I knew that I would not.

You see, Tom possessed a power over me - a power that was beyond magic, and that he would one day use over countless followers and victims. Looking into his eyes, I felt again that affinity, and although I still knew that what he was doing was terribly wrong, I could not bring myself to argue it further. Perhaps it was fear. Fear of those dark eyes that could so swiftly change from happy to sad to maniacal to terrible. Fear of that wand, with which he was so deft in using magic far beyond his years. Fear of losing my closest companion, the boy who was my best friend and with whom I could feel myself falling in love.

"I won't say anything," I murmured, finally managing to break my eyes away from his dangerous glare and stare instead at the cold stone floor. 


	6. Weakness

I didn't see Tom again for a few days, during which several more students were petrified and sent to lie in the hospital wing indefinitely. With the announcement of each new attack, my heart dropped and my stomach felt sick. I was wracked with guilt, because I knew it was Tom's doing. I knew that all I had to do was turn him in and the attacks would stop.

And yet, I said nothing.

Then, on a chilly fall day, the bad turned worse. Headmaster Dippet interrupted our lunch in the Great Hall, commanding silence and staring out over all the House tables with the gravest of expressions. "It is my terrible duty," he began, his tired voice shaking, "to inform you all that another attack has taken place."

At this, a smattering of murmurs broke out all over the hall, but Headmaster Dippet cleared his throat and the whispering stopped. "A student has been. a young lady has died." This time it was a veritable tsunami of gasps, screams and crying that splashed over the Great Hall, completely drowning anything else the headmaster might have said. My eyes snapped immediately across the room to the Slytherin table, where they met the icy gaze of Tom Riddle. He winked at me almost indiscernibly, then he turned his face toward the Head Table and feigned an expression of horror.

All classes were cancelled after lunch, and we were all sent to our dormitories, where we awaited more news solemnly. It turned out to have been Myrtle Neusbaum, a pudgy Ravenclaw sixth year with whom I was only vaguely familiar, who had been killed by Tom's beast. Rumor had it that her body had been found in the girls' bathroom.

That evening, we were all led to the Great Hall for supper by our heads of houses. No students were allowed to go anywhere in the castle without being accompanied by a teacher. No sooner had I set foot in the Great Hall, when a hand clenched my arm and pulled me from the ranks of the Gryffindor parade that was being led by Professor McGonagall.

"Tom! What are you doing?" I cried as he wrestled me back out into the Entrance Hall. He said nothing, but pulled me away from the Great Hall and into the shadows.

"It's all ruined," Tom spat in a hissing whisper. "The beast finally succeeds in killing that Mudblood girl, things are finally beginning to happen, and now it's all ruined!"

His hands gripped my arms uncomfortably. "What are you talking about?" I cried, suddenly terrified of him. "Tom, you killed her! You killed that poor girl! And now -"

"I think Dumbledore suspects me. And now they are saying the school will be closed!" Tom interrupted, his face bent close to mine, his cold eyes glittering with rage. "Do you have any idea what will happen to me if they close the school? Do you?" With these last words, he shook me angrily and I felt hot tears splash down my cheeks.

"Tom, you're hurting me!" I said, but he wasn't listening.

"They'll send me away!" he growled, still shaking me roughly. "I'll be shipped off to that horrible orphanage, to live with the Muggles like a prisoner! I refuse to be a prisoner!" His fingers dug into my arms like daggers and finally I let out a scream of pain.

Suddenly, the rage in Tom's eyes melted into fear and he released me with an expression of regret. I was still crying, my back against the cold stone wall, staring fearfully up at Tom. "Oh, Amelie," he said, his voice shaking, tears welling in his eyes to match my own. "Amelie, I'm so sorry. I'm so afraid. I can't let them send me back to that orphanage, Amelie." His arms hung limp at his sides, and his gaze slid from me to the wall behind me. "I didn't think this through," he muttered, more to himself than to me. "I never thought they would close the school. I have to do something."

With that, he turned and walked away. I remained propped against the wall, my heart racing, my hands still shaking with fear. A voice nearby caused me to jump. "Amelie?"

It was Professor McGonagall, peering at me from the entrance to the Great Hall. Her square glasses made her look old, despite her young age. She came toward me and put an awkward arm around my shoulders. "Come, now," she said quietly, mistaking my tears. "We'll all miss poor Myrtle. It'll do you good to come and have something to eat."

I allowed her to steer me into the Great Hall, where I sat with the Gryffindors and ate the most solemn meal of my life.

The next morning dawned with the news that the culprit had been caught at last. While the rest of Gryffindor Tower rejoiced, I felt hollow. Of course, I was relieved that it was all over, that the school would not be closed and that no more attacks would plague the halls. But the thought of Tom being expelled and quite possibly thrown into Azkaban made my heart break.

I made my way to Potions class in a sort of daze, my legs feeling like lead. I paid no attention to the excited gossip of my classmates. All I could think about was Tom. As I began to sort out the ingredients for the potion we were to be learning that day, I felt someone reach around and tickle my stomach from behind.

I spun around, and gasped when I found myself face to face with a grinning Tom. "You're. you. what are you doing here?" I asked, bewildered. Tom laughed.

"Haven't you heard?" he said gleefully. "It's all over!"

"Yes, I heard," I said quietly. "I thought you'd be. expelled."

Tom laughed, throwing his head back so that his voice echoed off the low ceiling. Everyone nearby was busy with their potions, and did not notice. "Amelie, you must start paying more attention to your gossiping girlfriends!" he said. He leaned close to me, so that his nose was nearly touching mine. "Hagrid's been expelled. It was perfect, really, since he's always bringing dangerous beasts into the castle. I told Headmaster Dippet that Hagrid was keeping a monster under the stairs - which wasn't a lie, because he really was hiding something down there! So everyone thinks he did it and no one is the wiser!"

Tom was looking at me with such an expression of happiness that I found myself almost relieved. "But. but what about your monster?" I asked in a voice barely audible. Tom's grin faltered a little.

"I had to lock it up again," he said sadly, "but it's all for the best. My timing was wrong, that's all. But don't worry - I'll find other ways."

Our conversation was interrupted by Professor Swizzle, who was making his way around the dungeon to inspect everyone's potion. Tom winked at me and went back to his own table. I turned to my cauldron and hurriedly measured out the ingredients, though my mind was far from concentrating on powdered root of asphodel.

I had never been more confused in my life. I was still wracked by terrible guilt for not turning Tom in for the horrible crimes he had committed. But still, Tom had that unexplainable power over me. I have already admitted that I was a little afraid of him, and when you mix fear with love, reader, you come out with a very complicated emotion. The knowledge of what Tom had done, and what he would be capable of doing in the future was mind-numbingly terrifying to me. But at the same time, the feeling I got in the pit of my stomach when he flashed me his boyish grin, the way my skin tingled at his touch, all had a mind-numbing effect of their own.

And so, I am ashamed to say, I made up my mind that day in Potions class, that I would stand by Tom, no matter what. It was weak of me, I know. But I would not be the last to yield to weakness under the influence of the most powerful Dark Wizard of the age. Oh, no, reader. the power of Tom Riddle was only just beginning.


	7. Tolerance

Winter was deep that year, blanketing the school grounds with a driving snow. The night before I was to depart with the rest of the students who would be going home for Christmas, I sought Tom out at supper. He was in a foul mood, and had been for several days, bitter about the fact that he would be forced as always to stay at the castle, since his only other alternative was to return to the Muggle orphanage.

"I told you not to come to our table at dinner," he snapped at me, not looking up from his turkey and potatoes. I ignored him and squeezed myself onto the bench, shouldering a disgruntled Lucius Malfoy out of the way.

"You'll want to hear what I have to say," I said teasingly, and Tom finally looked up.

"What can possibly be so enthusing?" he asked grumpily. I had long since stopped being bothered by his ill tempered moods.

"Well, I wrote to my mother and father, and they agreed that you may come and spend the holiday at our home in France!" I said excitedly. Tom's jaw dropped and he stared at me for several moments before saying anything.

"Stay with you?" he said quietly. "In France? All holiday?"

"Yes, yes," I said, grinning at him. "So, will you come? That is, if you can put aside your prejudice against Muggles and behave well toward my parents." We had not spoken about my heritage since our first argument, and Tom's eyes darkened.

After a long pause, he smiled softly. "Well," he said slowly, "I think I can make an exception for you and your family. Yes, Amelie, I would be honored to stay with you."

The train ride the following morning was tense for me. I sat next to Tom, who was reading a book about ancient magical warriors, and wondered if he would keep his word about being nice to my family. I also wondered what this visit might do for our relationship. We had still never breached the borders of friendship, but I longed to be more than friends. I hoped that perhaps some time away from the busyness of school might help us along.

When finally the train rattled to a halt at Platform 9 ¾, we gathered our things and made our way out onto the platform with the rest of the students. Tom was strangely quiet, keeping his hands in his pockets. At King's Cross Station, we had to go to the farthest ticket window on the right, which bore a sign that read "Next Window Please" and tap three times on the glass.

An elderly witch with a purple hat materialized on the other side of the glass and beamed at us. "Thank you for traveling the International Floo Express, what country, please?"

"France," I said, and the witch collected three Galleons each from us. Then, the ticket booth jumped aside and allowed us to walk through, where we emerged into a vast room lined with fireplaces. The witch handed us each a small bag of Floo Powder labeled "La France," and directed us to the nearest empty grate.

Tom was looking around the room in a curious sort of way. "I was wondering how we'd get to France once we reached King's Cross," he said. I smiled and tossed my powder into the fire.

"28 Rue de la Coeuer," I said. In no time at all, I found myself back in the familiar salon of my home. Seconds later, Tom stepped out of the fire behind me, brushing soot off of his robes. My mother and father hurried into the room from the kitchen, and fell upon me with hugs and kisses. My mother, always the sociable one, moved to kiss Tom on the cheek, but he flinched.

At a dangerous look from me, however, Tom leaned in and allowed my mother to hug him, and shook hands with my father. I beamed at my parents and introduced Tom.

"Welcome to our home," my mother said in her finest English. "Please, Amelie cherie, show our guest to his room. We will serve tea in one hour."

With that, my mother and father left the salon and I smiled at Tom. "They're a bit flighty," I said apologetically. "Come, you'll be staying in the guest room. It's just across the hall from my own."

"Oh, really?" Tom said in a mischievous voice as I led him up the stairs. I stopped near the landing and turned to look at him. Once again, our eyes were level, though he stood two steps below me.

"No funny business," I said sternly, my hands on my hips. Tom raised his eyebrows innocently.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, Amelie cherie!" he answered teasingly. We reached the guest room and I showed him in, then retreated to my own room to unpack. It felt wonderful to be back at home, among my favorite things. My bedroom was small but cozy, with a happy fire crackling in the corner and the lovely smell of crepes wafting up from the kitchen.

Not ten minutes had passed before there was a sharp knock on my door. "Entrez-vous!" I called, expecting my mother. But when the door opened, it was Tom who entered. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, as though trapping me inside.

"What do you want?" I said nervously. My father would not be happy to find Tom in my bedroom.

"Oh, nothing," he said lazily. He was staring intensely at me, his dark hair shining in the firelight. "I just wanted to make sure you hadn't said anything to your parents about my little incident at school."

I raised my eyebrows. Of all the things I had expected him to say at that moment, that was not one. "Of course I haven't," I said quietly. "I thought we agreed never to speak of it again."

"We did," he said, stepping toward me. "Forgive me if my trust is not the strongest, but I've been betrayed far too many times in my life. I just want to make sure that you remember our promise."

"I remember," I said, becoming uncomfortable under his gaze. Finally, his expression softened and he smiled.

"Good. Amelie, Amelie," he murmured, closing the gap between us, "what are you doing to me?"

"What do you mean?" I asked as he placed his hands on my hips. I could hear mother humming in the kitchen below our feet.

"Who would have thought that I, Lord Voldemort, would ever fall in love with anyone, let alone a Muggle-born and a Gryffindor," he said, pulling me closer.

The rush of excitement I felt at his declaration of love was hindered by confusion. "Lord who?" I asked breathlessly. Tom laughed softly.

"You like it?" he asked. "I thought it sounded more powerful than 'Tom Riddle,' don't you agree? And since I plan to become the most powerful wizard on Earth, I needed a powerful name. What do you think? Is Lord Voldemort powerful enough for you, Amelie?" Without waiting for me to answer, Tom wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into our first kiss. His kiss was like his stare, intense and burning and incredibly passionate.


	8. Indifference

Falling into Tom's kiss was like jumping off of a cliff and flying toward an unknown depth. I found myself utterly entranced, as though my mind were uncontrollably fogged by his power. As always, I felt a twinge of fear, but that fear was overpowered by my love for this strange mystery that was Tom.

A sudden knock on my bedroom door startled us out of our kiss, and before I could move, Tom had vanished with an earsplitting crack. I stood blinking on the spot, my heart thundering against my lungs, as my mother entered the room.

"What was that sound?" she said. I merely shrugged, unable to speak. "Well, tea is ready, so you and your friend may come down to the salon. Your papa and I are eager to hear about your first semester at Hogwarts."

"Yes, yes," I said breathlessly, "we'll be right down."

Mother smiled and left, and I rushed across the hall and knocked on Tom's door. A muffled "Come in!" sounded from behind the door, and I entered the guest room to find him sprawled lazily on the bed, reading a copy of the Daily Prophet that he had brought with him.

"You can Apparate?" I asked, amazed. Tom bobbed his eyebrows at me and grinned devilishly.

"It's really not so difficult," he said, tossing the paper aside, "I don't see why they don't let underage wizards do it."

"Won't you be caught by the Department for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry?" I said.

"There are ways around every law," Tom said. He stood up and came toward me, again with that intense gaze.

"We are expected in the salon for tea," I said nervously, glancing over my shoulder at the open doorway.

"One more kiss and we'll go," Tom urged. I sighed and allowed him to take me once more into his arms. A few whirlwind moments later found us descending the narrow staircase and entering the salon, where we spent the rest of the afternoon recounting the semester to my parents.

Over the few short weeks we spent in France, Tom and I grew infinitely closer. He seemed less manic, less secretive outside of school. I liked him this way, he seemed like less of a mystery and more like an ordinary sixteen-year-old boy. Whatever his feelings were toward Muggles in general, he seemed to genuinely like my parents and was an angel to them the entire time.

As Tom had never been to France, I made sure to show him the sights. You see, although the Muggle world was being tossed to and fro in their second World War, the magical community managed to keep themselves apart from it, so Tom and I were able to travel around my country without worry of the harshness of war.

All too soon, the holidays were over and it was time to return to Hogwarts. Tom and I took the International Floo Express back to Kings Cross Station, and I was astonished at the change in him as soon as we set foot on the Hogwarts Express. We had been holding hands the entire way to Platform 9 ¾, talking and laughing, but as we made out way down the narrow corridor of the train and settled into a compartment, Tom suddenly seemed to hardly notice my presence.

His fellow Slytherins sought him out and barged into our compartment, where they all shot me vindictive glares and surrounded Tom, shutting me out of all conversation. I hoped, rather than expected, that Tom would include me, would show some interest in me in front of his friends, but I was disappointed to find that he did not.

He scarcely spoke two words to me the entire train ride – instead he joked and laughed with his horrible friends, including Lucius Malfoy, who seemed particularly eager to fend me off. Things did not improve much once we had reached the castle. After exiting the train, Tom merely nodded at me and went off toward Slytherin house without a backward glance. My heart sank.

The vast advances in our relationship that had been made while in France seemed to have disappeared now that we were back at school. And, being the stubborn girl that I was, I quickly decided that two could play that game.

I made a point of avoiding eye contact with Tom in all of our classes, and especially at mealtimes, where I exaggerated every laugh and made sure to have all the appearance of not caring whether he was there or not. I had hoped that this would entice Tom to make a little more effort toward me, but he did not.

In fact, I soon began to see very little of him anywhere at all. He was no longer present at meals, nor did I see him anywhere on the school grounds during free time. I missed him, but I was also getting to be very annoyed at his disappearance. Finally, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I had an idea of where he might be spending all of this time. One day after lunch, I made my way up several staircases and down many corridors, until I found the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his dancing trolls. The corridor was completely empty, and as I had no idea how to get into the secret room Tom had shown to me before, I waited.

Sure enough, after just a few minutes, the wall opposite me wavered and revealed a door, out of which came not Tom, but his Slytherin gang. They were all whispering excitedly, and each had a bandage around his left forearm. It was Lucius Malfoy who caught sight of me first.

Although he was several years younger than me, Lucius was already much taller than I was. His white-blond hair was long and tied back with a black ribbon, and he was rubbing the bandaged arm as though in pain.

"What are you doing here, Mudblood?" he spat, his grey eyes glinting in the dim light from the torches that lined the walls. The rest of the Slytherins were frowning down at me.

"Where is Tom?" I asked defiantly. I was not going to let them intimidate me.

"The Dark Lord does not wish to see anyone," said Lucius haughtily.

"Dark Lord?" I asked incredulously. "You mean Lord Voldemort?"

The effect of this simple question was astonishing. The Slytherins gasped and looked darkly at one another, and then back at me. Lucius stepped forward and leered at me. "I don't know how you know about that, but Lord Voldemort wishes to be left alone. He does not associate with Mudbloods, and he is too busy to be bothered by an annoying little Frenchy like you."

Without thinking, I had drawn my wand and pointed it steadily at Malfoy. He smiled darkly and drew his own wand out of his robes, meeting my aim. "Do you want to duel?" he asked teasingly. "I may be younger than you, Mudblood, but Lord Voldemort has already taught me much more than you will ever know about magic." The other Slytherins watched as Lucius circled me. My heart was pounding. I had never dueled before, and was not at all sure I could succeed.

"What's the matter, Frenchy?" Lucius taunted. "Are you afraid?"

"Lucius!" came a booming voice from behind the Slytherins. The boys all backed away and revealed Tom, who was standing in the doorway of the Room of Requirement, his eyes livid and his wand aimed deftly at Malfoy.

"My Lord, I was only – " began Malfoy, but Tom was advancing on him.

"You were only about to make a very big mistake, Lucius," Tom said coldly. "Get out of my sight, and don't let me see you until you are summoned."

Lucius let his wand arm fall to his side. He looked from Tom to me and back again, his cold eyes wide with shock, before turning and skulking away, his blond head bowed in embarrassment. Tom looked around at the rest of his friends, frowning.

"That goes for the rest of you, too," he said quietly. "Go." They all followed Malfoy in silence, so that Tom and I were left alone in the corridor. He finally turned his gaze on me and frowned. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Trying to find you," I said honestly. "Look, Tom, I don't know what's going on here, but –"

"What is going on here is none of your business," Tom said coldly. "I told you before that I had big plans, plans of becoming the most powerful wizard on Earth, and I can hardly accomplish those plans if you are constantly in my way."

I fought to hold back the tears that were welling. "In your way?" I repeated. "In your way? I thought we were… I thought you… Tom, what about everything that happened in France?"

Tom heaved a great sigh and looked around. "Come, let's go into the Room of Requirement. We can talk in private there." He turned and went back into the room. I hesitated for only a moment, then followed.


	9. Arrogance

The door closed behind me and I heard it lock itself with a click. The Room of Requirement was different now than the last time I had visited. In place of the dusty chairs was a solitary stone table, spread with parchments lit by sparse floating candles. Tom walked across the room, his back to me. He stopped and stood still for a few moments, his hands on his hips and his dark head bowed in thought.

Finally, he turned and looked at me with sad, hollow eyes. "I need time," he said, spreading his arms wide as though pleading with me.

"Time?" I asked. "All I've been giving you is time! You haven't so much as spoken to me in weeks!" I felt my face turning red with temper. Tom just stared, his handsome face both sad and furious.

"Amelie, there are things you don't understand," he said, his voice tensely quiet. He shrugged his shoulders. "I just can't be hindered at the moment."

A hot tear slid down my cheek as I stepped forward. "You're right," I said, "I don't understand. How can I possibly understand when you won't tell me what's going on? I'm frightened, Tom. I care for you, and I feel that you are headed down a dangerous path. I want to help you, but you are too arrogant, too self-absorbed to-"

"I have every right to be arrogant!" he flared. I could tell his meager amount of patience was running out. He advanced slowly as he spoke, each word like a hot dagger. "I am Lord Voldemort! My powers reach beyond the darkest edge of your imagination. And you? You are nothing but a stupid, ridiculous girl. I have been tolerant of your constant prying, but it ends here. Get out."

He came to a stop only inches from me. I looked up into his face, the dark eyes tinged with red, his lips tight with an angry smirk, and not a trace of affection to be found. Suddenly my inherent temper reared, and before I could stop it my hand flew up to hit him on the face.

No sooner had I struck him than I found myself pinned against the wall by magic that pressed so hard against my chest I could hardly breathe. He held a single hand out in front of me, radiating magic from his slender fingertips.

"If you were anyone else, you'd be dead right now," he murmured. "If it is any comfort, know that Lord Voldemort cares enough for you to spare you."

I struggled against the crushing magic to no avail. Tom shook his head and heaved a sigh that lingered somewhere between regret and relief. "I will only say it once more… get out."

He lowered his hand and the pressure immediately disappeared. Gasping for breath, my eyes stinging with tears, I scrambled through the door and did not stop running until I fell upon my bed in Gryffindor Tower.

I feigned sickness for several days, avoiding my classes, meals - anywhere that I might have to face Tom. I told Madame Fielding, the school nurse, that I had a terrible stomach ache, when in reality all I suffered from was a broken heart.

I know that you, reader, are probably thinking, 'How could she still love Riddle, after the way he treated her?" But I have said it before, and I will say it again: Tom Riddle had power over me. Not magical power, nothing like the Imperius Curse. He had won my heart and had the immense power of love over me, like a heavy cloud from whose shadow I could not escape.

Believe me, I tried. Over the next few months, I pretended he didn't exist. I made a big show of laughing with friends during meals and in the grounds, and I spent class time bent so eagerly over my studies that anyone would have thought my brain had no room to think of Tom Riddle.

For a while, he seemed relieved by my aloofness, but little by little, I began to sense a longing on his part. If, for instance, I chanced a glance at him during Potions, I almost always found him gazing at me as though lost in thought. His handsome face was drawn and tired, and he was growing thinner. During meals, he sat in his usual place at Slytherin table, but merely stirred the food around lazily on his plate, shooting dark glances in my direction in between nodding at Lucius Malfoy's incessant chatter. I secretly enjoyed the triumph of his longing, and made up my mind to continue to ignore him until he apologized for his behavior.

One afternoon in late May, Rowland Skirmish, a fellow Gryffindor, approached me as I made my way out of Advanced Transfiguration. "Amelie, wait!" he called after me, and I turned to find him tugging nervously at his school tie. Tom was passing nearby, so I grinned at Rowland and reached up to help him loosen his tie.

"Why, hello, Rowland, how are you?" I asked in my most flirtatious voice. I saw Tom hesitate, then stop to tie his shoe. Rowland cleared his throat.

"Great, great, I'm fine," he stammered. "Look, there is a party tonight in Professor Slughorn's office. It's a private affair, but I wondered if you'd like to, er, be my guest?"

"Rowland Skirmish, I would _love_ to be your guest!" I purred. Rowland reddened, Tom stood and stalked away. Rowland said he would meet me in the Entrance Hall at seven o'clock, and then we parted ways.

I don't think I need to tell you that I had no interest whatsoever in Rowland Skirmish, but I knew for a fact that Tom was one of the small group of students who visited Professor Slughorn often. They called themselves the "Slug Club," and if I had an opportunity to attend a Slug Club soiree, you'd better believe I was going to take it!


	10. Jealousy

That evening I met Rowland in the Entrance Hall as planned, wearing my prettiest emerald green dress robes, my hair twisted up elegantly, and glittering diamonds on my ears and throat. I was determined to be radiantly nonchalant as I entered the crowded office of Professor Slughorn on Rowland Skirmish's arm.

In addition to about twenty Hogwarts students, the room was full of witches and wizards of various celebrity, including the famed crooner Melanie Moon, who had been invited to entertain, and whose warbling voice swelled over the chatter of the guests. Professor Slughorn perched on a high, cushioned stool, each of his massive buttocks lopping over the sides of the seat. He clutched a glass of champagne in one red hand, and was deep in conversation with a pair of wizards from the Ministry.

As Rowland steered me around the room, introducing me to various and sundry, my eyes constantly scanned the surroundings for Tom. Finally I spotted him, lurking in a corner with a tall, masculine Slytherin girl. They were apparently engrossed in conversation, their heads ducked close together. I could hear her giggling mindlessly, and I struggled to ignore it. For Tom's part, he seemed not to notice that I had even arrived.

Finally, Rowland introduced me to Professor Slughorn, who shook my hand drunkenly. "Ah, ah, our exchange student!" he cried in exaggerated delight. "Your father is Monsieur Gerard Delacroix, is he not? Of the International Treasury?" His greedy eyes glittered ever brighter as I nodded. Rowland's chest seemed to expand with pride as he realized that he had brought just the type of guest Professor Slughorn was most fond of.

"Come, my dear," said Slughorn, sliding off his stool and placing a hand under my elbow, "I have some very important people I'd like you to meet." I allowed myself to be introduced to several wizards from the Ministry's treasury department. They asked a lot of insipid questions and fawned over the great work my father was doing for our world, and in the end I had several business cards in my hand and was heavy with requests to put in a good word with my father.

Meanwhile, Tom and the Slytherin girl had disappeared from sight, and I was miserable. Rowland invited me to dance, which I did with little enthusiasm until late into the night. When the crowd had finally begun to dwindle, Tom reappeared just as suddenly as he'd gone, and I watched as he made his way to Slughorn. He, along with several other Slytherin boys, sat around Slughorn's slippered feet, and they all became engrossed in conversation. Tom sat closest to Slughorn, a bottle of firewhisky in his hand, making sure the Professor's glass was never empty for long.

When Rowland finally suggested that we leave, I shot one last glance at Tom, who hadn't so much as winked at me all night, and was dismayed to find him still just as aloof as when I'd arrived. Feeling close to tears, I made my way out of the nearly empty office, but not before I heard Tom murmur to Professor Slughorn, "I have a question, Professor... what do you know about Horcruxes?"

The next day, I skipped supper and went to the library to study for my OWLs. The air was quiet and still between the vast cases of leather-bound books, and one could almost hear the whispering of ancient authors, as though the books were alive. A few students were scattered among the tables, but most were down in the Great Hall chatting in excitement about the upcoming summer holiday.

Suddenly, I spotted a dark head bent over an ancient book, at a table near the Restricted Section. My stomach did an enormous somersault and I turned quickly around, wanting to escape without his notice. Too late.

"Amelie."

I stopped, but did not turn around. I could feel his eyes boring into my back, looking through my very skin right down to my soul. His silky voice sounded again, this time right behind me, his breath on my ear.

"Walk with me," he breathed, sending an unwelcome shiver down my body that I'm certain he must have noticed. He placed a hand on the small of my back and led me out of the library and into the long, dim corridor.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice not coming out nearly as cold as I'd meant it to. Tom continued to press me forward.

"Shhhh," he whispered. "Nearly there." We rounded several corners, went up one flight of stairs, passing a few scattered students on the way. Finally, Tom pushed open a door and ushered me into an empty classroom. He came in behind me and closed the door, throwing us into utter darkness.

__

"Ferici," he muttered, and a single lit candle appeared, floating beside our heads and casting a dim circle of orange light around us. Before I could say a word, Tom grabbed my waist and pulled me to him, hungrily pressing his lips to mine and holding my body tight against his. My fingers took on a will of their own and twisted themselves into his dark, silky hair. For a moment I was stunned, falling forward into his passionate embrace, until the angry voice in the back of my mind began to speak up.

I tried to pull away, but his arms only closed more tightly around my waist, his kiss burning my lips with a frightening intensity. Finally, I managed to turn my face from him, his lips skidding onto my cheek. He released me instantly and stepped back as though stung.

We stared at each other for a long moment, each of us breathing hard, his eyes black in the dim candlelight. For the second time, I struck Tom Riddle across the face. This time he did not react, but took it as though he felt he deserved it.

"What are you _doing?_" I cried, my voice echoing around the stone walls. "For months you ignore me, last night you didn't so much as _look_ at me, and now this? What am I to think?" I was still breathing hard, fighting the urge to strike him again.

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. His face was so beautiful in the light of the candle. He did not look at me as he spoke. "I can't help it! I want nothing, _nothing_, more than to be rid of you, but it will not do! I couldn't look at you last night, couldn't bear to see you on _his_ arm, dancing and laughing and…" His voice trailed off and he finally looked me in the eye.

"I had to leave the room just to keep from _killing_ him." Coming from anyone else, that would have been an obvious exaggeration, but I knew Tom was deadly serious. He stepped closer to me, but I backed away.

"Amelie," he breathed, looking slightly deranged, "I do not wish to be involved with you, for reasons I've told you before. But I cannot - I _will not_ - stand to see you with anyone else." He paused momentarily, and his eyes flashed with some realization. He smiled now and drew me closer to him, his arms again around my waist. This time I did not resist. I couldn't.

"Oh, Tom, Tom, what am I to do?" I whispered. I wanted so badly to be angry at him, to hate him, but I couldn't. He kissed me, lightly this time, and held my face in his hands.

"Meet me in the Room of Requirement at ten o'clock," he murmured, and with a swish of his black robes he turned and left me alone in the candlelight.


	11. Security

There was a part of me that did not want to go to the Room of Requirement, that begged me to stay in my warm dormitory. A very small part, that is. The rest of me, the part that was utterly mesmerized by Tom, despite all his darkness, couldn't wait for ten o'clock.

At a quarter till, I made a big show of realizing that I forgot my homework in the library in order to escape my roommates without much resistance. After assuring them that I would be careful not to get caught in the corridors after hours, I stole down the spiral staircase, through the warm, cozy Gryffindor common room, and through the portrait hole.

The dark, stone corridors were cold despite the onslaught of summer, and I hugged my robes tightly around my shoulders. Before I knew it, I was standing before a blank stretch of wall, behind which I knew Tom would be waiting. I hesitated. Waiting for _what_, exactly?

Several frightening scenarios flashed across my mind. Would he try again to enfold me in his embrace, and possibly try to take it further? Would he be angry again, and violent? Would he tell me again how much he loathed my presence? None of these options were very good, and I could not think of anything else. I considered turning back.

But if I didn't show up, what would he do? I shuddered at the thought of his anger, but even more than that, I dreaded losing contact with him again. I took a deep breath and smoothed my long hair before whispering to the wall: _"I need to meet Tom Riddle."_

I was no longer in awe of the solid stone wall melting into a door before my eyes, and I hurriedly pushed my way into the room, making sure to close it behind me. The light was dim, its only source being a rather small fireplace at the opposite end of the room. There were several pieces of old, worn furniture, and a few tattered rugs scattered across the stone floor.

Near the fireplace stood Tom and Lucius Malfoy. I frowned. Of all the things I might have expected, a party with Malfoy was not one of them.

"You came," Tom said, though he did not sound at all surprised.

"Of course I did," was all I said as I closed the distance between us. As though Malfoy was nonexistent, Tom swept me into a brief but hungry kiss and then just as abruptly he pushed me from him, keeping his hands on my arms.

"After the party, I realized something," Tom said, still ignoring Malfoy completely. "I realized that I am an extremely jealous person."

I couldn't help but smile. "I could have told you that," I teased. The corners of Tom's thin lips turned up in the playful smile I hadn't seen in months. It did not last, however. In a flash, he was serious again.

"I refrained from killing _him_, but I cannot promise that I will have such self-control in the future," he warned. "Amelie, I am a selfish being. I am determined that I should have what I want, when I want, and I cannot bear to think that you would ever be with anyone else."

His intensity was both flattering and frightening. I realized I wasn't breathing. "Tom," I gasped, but he put a finger to my lips.

"I wish I could say that I trusted you," he went on. "I wish I could be certain that you would always be mine, even when we are apart."

"Tom, don't you see?" I said, gently pushing his hand aside. "I have tried to get over you, tried so hard to escape whatever… power you have over me, but it won't do. I am yours."

Tom shook his handsome head. "That is not good enough. Time changes people, circumstances get in the way. Your word is nothing in the scheme of things."

I took in a sharp breath, stung by his words. Reading the hurt on my face, he continued:

"It's not your fault, it's human nature," he said. "There will come a time when I will have total authority over our world, and I will be able to devote more time to you… but until then I will be busy, very busy. I want - I _need_ to know that I have nothing to fear in leaving you out of sight. I must know that you will still be there when I need you."

Lucius shuffled uncomfortably nearby, startling me. I'd been so lost in Tom's gaze that I'd forgotten he was there. Tom put his hands on the sides of my face and held me there, his captive in every way.

"There is only one thing to be done," he murmured. There was an edge to his voice that I didn't like, and I was suddenly terrified.

"W-what?" I whispered.

"You must take the Unbreakable Vow," he answered. It was not what I was expecting, and I'll admit I felt slightly relieved. I knew of the Unbreakable Vow, however, how powerful it was and how dangerous such a thing could be - especially in the hands of someone like Tom.

"But, Tom, don't you think that's a bit… serious?" My voice sounded childish. Tom nodded.

"Of course it is. I am very serious about this matter." He pulled me close to him, but there was no warmth in his embrace. Instead, it radiated a dangerous possessiveness, as though he were a dog and I was a bone to be guarded with bared fangs.

"Lucius has agreed to be our Bonder," Tom went on, and Malfoy stepped forward importantly. I ignored him and pleaded with Tom.

"Please, let's just wait," I said urgently. "Tom, you know how I feel about you - why don't you trust me?"

"You were on another boy's arm the other night," he answered, his silky voice tinged with anger. "What more reason do I need?" We stared at each other for a long moment, and I tried in vain to think of a way out. As much as I cared for Tom, I was not ready to promise the rest of my life to him.

"Do I have a choice?" I asked finally, knowing what the answer would be.

"No." Tom shook his head and smiled at me triumphantly. He knew he had won. He had known he would from the time I entered the room - and so had I. I took a deep breath as Tom knelt before me, pulling me gently to my knees, as well. He grasped my right hand in his, and looked into my eyes. Malfoy stepped forward and put the tip of his wand on our hands. Without further ado, Tom began.

"Will you, Amelie Delacroix, remain faithful to me, Lord Voldemort, for the rest of your life?" he said solemnly. My head was spinning.

"I - I will," I whispered. A rope of flame sprang from Malfoy's wand and wrapped itself around our hands. I tried to loosen my grip, but Tom squeezed harder.

"We're not finished yet," he said. "Will you come when I call, and do my bidding, without hesitation or delay?"

I did not like where this was going. I felt slightly nauseous. "I will." A second flame twisted with the first, encasing our hands in a brilliant glow.

"In the likely event that another man takes an interest in you, will you bring him to me… to be dealt with?" Tom's grip was viselike. A hot tear slid down my cheek, burning my skin.

"Tom," I pleaded, my voice trembling. His eyes flashed menacingly.

"Say it!" he roared, and his voice echoing from the walls hit me like a hundred angry wolves.

"I will," I whispered, crying in earnest now. A third flame joined the others.

"Finally, will you leave Hogwarts tomorrow and never return to this place?" Tom's eyes were black with intensity. This question caught me off-guard, and I paused before agreeing, watching in a stupor as a fourth and final fiery rope braided itself around our hands. With one last squeeze, Tom finally let go of me, and the glowing ropes vanished in a wisp of red smoke.

Tom stood up and turned to Malfoy. "That's all. You may go." Malfoy hurried from the room, and I remained on my knees, fighting the urge to vomit. Tom faced the fire, his back to me, and was silent.

After several minutes, when I felt that I could open my mouth without being sick, I looked up at Tom's back and said, "Why must I leave Hogwarts?" Of everything he'd sworn me to, that should probably have been the least of my worries, but it was the only demand that confused me.

Tom did not turn around as he answered. "I've told you before. You are a distraction. I will call you when the time is right. You may go."

I knew it was no use arguing, so I slowly stood up and left the Room of Requirement without another word. Up in Gryffindor Tower, I put my head under my pillow and cried silently, my right hand still tingling from that dark and terrible wedding.


End file.
